


Heart of the Matter

by The_Apostrophe_of_Catastrophe



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Alternate Universe - Thieves, Fairy Tale Elements, Happy Ending, I Made A Thing, Inspired by Cinderella, M/M, Masquerade, One Shot, Romance, Royal Balls, Short Story, Victor is utterly enamored, Yuuri makes a terrible thief, yoiroyaltyweek2018
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-16
Updated: 2018-05-16
Packaged: 2019-05-08 00:35:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14682780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Apostrophe_of_Catastrophe/pseuds/The_Apostrophe_of_Catastrophe
Summary: Phichit swore the plan was foolproof.   All they had to do was follow The Plan, which helpfully consisted of: Get in, scope out the residence, unlock a door, crack a safe, pocket the jewels, get out, and don’t get caught.  Simple.  Impossible to mess up.  And if Yuuri allowed himself to forget for a moment that his friend was NOT insisting on robbing Their Imperial Majesties right from under Their Imperial Noses, he wouldn’t need to worry.





	Heart of the Matter

_They said that if one could steal the Twin Hearts of the Kingdom, wealth and prosperity would follow you for the rest of your days. If one could steal the Hearts, one would never need to worry about money or the petty cares that came with it again. If one could steal the Hearts, one would be set for life. The cost? Well, they say the Prince possessed a heart of ice. This would simply make the legends true…_

Phichit swore the plan was foolproof.   All they had to do was follow The Plan, which helpfully consisted of: Get in, scope out the residence, unlock a door, crack a safe, pocket the jewels, get out, and don’t get caught. Simple. Impossible to mess up. And if Yuuri allowed himself to forget for a moment that his friend was NOT insisting on robbing Their Imperial Majesties right from under Their Imperial Noses, he wouldn’t need to worry.

Yuuri was very worried.

He couldn’t help it. Worry came as naturally to him as breathing (more naturally, even, in the midst of a panic attack) or staying up past the clock’s second chime in the darkest hours of the night.

It came as easily as picking locks.

This is an unusual talent, to most people. Most people would mention music or art among their talents; ice dancing, ballet, poker, and lying are all talents of value, when used properly. Lock picking is a touch more unusual, and it is a gift Yuuri cultivated over the years, mostly thanks to his sister, who never left her door unlocked, no matter Yuuri’s personal emergency.

 Then he met Phichit, at a time when his family’s business was going under and he just made it sound so _easy_ , just a few items that people would never miss and bam! His parents could live out the rest of their lives free of strees! But one job became another, and another, and another, and soon Yuuri couldn’t bear the thought of returning home knowing that he would have to face his family with all he’d done eating at his soul.

 “This is it,” he’d told Phichit when his friend suggested his outlandish scheme one evening over a tankard of mead. “One last job, then I’m done. I can’t keep doing this.” And Phichit agreed, bless him, and the plotting began in earnest. One more job, their Magnum Opus, and Yuuri could finally go home, and his family would never have to worry again.

All of this sounded great, in theory. It was much less brilliant in practice, as Yuuri stood outside the palace gates on the eve of the Prince’s Royal Birthday Masquerade. Yuuri knew that as of this moment, there would be nothing to worry about. They weren’t stealing anything tonight, it was an opportunity to scope out the palace without looking suspicious, just two subjects _ooh-ing_ and _ahh-ing_ over the fancy architecture and grandiose royal portraits, the height of vanity. Still, Yuuri couldn’t help fidgeting with his cloak, his mask, his hair, his gloves, his hair again, his mask, his _hair—_

“Yuuri, stop,” said Phichit, forcibly pulling his hand away from where they were tangled in his bangs, desperately trying to fix them (and effectively making them worse) as his fingers itched to run through his hair for the umpteenth time. It was probably messy again; damn, Phichit had _just_ fixed it…

 “We have nothing to be nervous about or ashamed of. We’re here to dance, talk to some pretty girls, or guys, whatever makes ya happy, and take advantage of the fact that our tax dollars are being used for something that benefits us for a change,” Phichit continued. “Alright? Breathe, man. It’s all good!” Yuuri nodded jerkily. Phichit sighed. “Well, in any case, don’t fret too much; after all, all you have to do is wander through the upper floors and look lost. I’m the one who has to cause a distraction over here! Now then, stop messing with your cloak, you’re gorgeous. Let’s go!”

They gave false names. Of course they did, most of the names the Announcer called out sounded fake already. Really, what kind of name was Le Roi, anyway? (“Stupid,” Phichit muttered into Yuuri’s ear when the gentleman descended the stairs, nose still high in the air.) Yuuri almost thought that his false name was more suitable than his real one. _Katsuki_ was a rare name indeed, but _Sato_ felt far less out of place, to him.

“Misters Anton Vipada and Asahi Sato,” the Announcer announced. Yuuri felt he would happily trade his own anxiety for the Announcer’s blatant boredom. Still, surely he could at least walk down a flight of stairs without botching up too badly, right?

Apparently not.

 Yuuri’s foot caught the hem of his cloak, and he lost his balance. This would not have been a problem, were the steps of the staircase just a little wider, but unfortunately they were just small enough that a lady in heels would have to walk on tiptoe to retain her balance and Yuuri, for all his years spent dancing, could not save himself even with the banister gleaming mockingly to his right as he toppled over. He reached out a hand to catch himself (hoping desperately that the angle would not be enough for him to break a wrist) but— he never touched the floor. Instead, a pair of gloved hands caught his arms, and drew him in close to their(very well-toned, under all that violet brocade) chest. Yuuri caught a glimpse of silver ribbon hovering at the corners of his vision.

“Careful,” said his savior in a low voice. “It would be a terrible tragedy to ruin that beautiful mask.”

“I am so sorry,” Yuuri yelped. He straightened up and stepped back, and he could only be grateful for the mask because oh, not only had he made a fool of himself in front of a room full of nobility and merchants and who only knew who else, but also quite possibly the most breathtaking pair of blue eyes he had ever had the pleasure of staring into, and Yuuri _knew_ he should have gone for a full face mask because his face was probably redder than the carpet.

“Hi,” he whispered, and his savior grinned.

“Hi,” he said back, quite cheerfully. “May I walk you down? You know, make sure you don’t trip again?”

_His voice is as lovely as his eyes._

“Oh, well, I mean, if you’re already going down,” Yuuri said.

_Stammering, honestly, way to play it cool, Katsuki._

The man’s ice-blue eyes turned molten. “I’d like nothing better,” he said and _oh,_ that wasn’t even fair. Yuuri said nothing, utterly helpless as the beautiful man led him down the stairwell, smiling from behind his violet mask. Swirls of gold complimented his auburn hair. Yuuri tried to look back, to see whether Phichit was following behind him, but that would require taking his eyes off the man beside him, and Yuuri just couldn’t bring himself to do that.

“May I have this dance?” The man asked, blue eyes twinkling, and Yuuri nodded, tongue dry. They drifted toward the center of the dance floor, and the string quartet off to the side began to play.

It was something out of a fairytale, Yuuri thought. He knew, distantly, that there was a plan he was supposed to stick to, but such things seemed petty, unimportant, when compared to the feeling of being held and twirled and dipped by the loveliest creature in the entire kingdom.

It wasn’t until someone tapped him on the shoulder that Yuuri realized they had danced for far too many songs in a row to be considered polite, or even decent. He turned around, glimpsing Phichit staring at him with bright eyes and a very pleased grin, and he turned back to see the stranger looking at him expectantly.

“I am so sorry,” he stammered. “I have to go.”

And with that, he took off in a direction he could only hope contained an exit that was not a window, not bothering to check whether Phichit followed. The stranger remained in the middle of the ballroom, still and stunned with eyes full of regret, mouth moving to form words that didn’t make it past his lips, but Yuuri didn’t see that either.

          

“Yuuri.”

“Not now, Phichit.”

“Yuuri.”

“Phich, please.”

“I was only going to say thank you for causing the distraction yourself; it gave me admirable time to explore without feeling overly concerned about being caught.”

“You are not helping.”

“I found the vault.”

This finally made Yuuri stop in his tracks, denials dying on his tongue. “Phichit, no way can I go back there.”

 “Why not? No one will recognize you! We’ll alter your disguise a little, get some differently shaped masks, which will alter the facial structure a bit. Then we’ll slip in, you won’t trip down the stairs, we’ll steal the crown jewels, and still be done in time for you to dance with your gorgeous mystery man.” He sounded so confident. Yuuri wished that he could borrow just a hint of that surety for himself.

 

The next night, Yuuri donned a black cloak, a red mask (that covered three quarters of his face, this time) and a hip flask full of wine. He ignored Phichit’s raised eyebrows, instead taking a very large gulp of it before walking out the door of the room they were currently lodging (read: hiding) in. The inn they were renting from was small, but neat, and undoubtedly less above-board than it first appeared, judging by the sounds of doors opening and closing at all hours of the night.

They arrived at the palace just a little late, but not so late that they were the last ones in. Best to be neither first, nor last, but announced somewhere safely in the middle when people were too bored to pay attention and too hungry to care about the Duchess of So-and-So or the Earl of Whatsit. No one would even notice they had entered, Yuuri was sure. He took another sip of wine only to notice that his flask was now empty. That was fine, he must have consumed it on the way there, but what did it really matter? He certainly wasn’t full-on drunk. Just enough to let his hips sway that little bit more as he descended the staircase, and lift his chin that little bit higher, and hold the gaze of anyone bold enough to meet his eyes.

“Well,” purred a smooth voice as he reached the last step, “I hoped you would come back, but I didn’t dare imagine you could be lovelier after only a day apart.” Blue eyes watched him appreciatively, lingering just a little too long on his collarbone.

Normal-Yuuri would blush and stammer, but this Yuuri had bigger concerns and a little alcohol in his system, which meant that rather than stuttering out an awkward reply and running away, he let the corner of his mouth curl up as he met blue eyes. A distant part of him knew he was supposed to blend in, become no more noticeable than the walls, that he should be concerned that he was so easily recognised, but there was something about the way the man looked at him. It made him feel seen, and not afraid of being seen.

“I live to surprise,” Yuuri murmured. He reached out to grab the other’s wrist and pull him close. “The real question is: can you catch me?” And he slipped away into the crowd. People were looking at him, but with a flick of his cloak and a carefully executed sleight of hand involving a flower vase clattering to the floor, he turned a corner and disappeared.

Phichit had given him very specific instructions. Two rights, one left, take the stairs, straight, straight, left, stairs, straight, right, two after the giant portrait of the fluffy, cocoa-colored poodle, open the door, which will require two bobby pins, not just one.

“Oh, good, you’re here,” Phichit said, green cloak fluttering behind him. Yuuri plucked the bobby pins from his hair, suddenly feeling much more sober.

“Where else would I be?” He knelt down and pulled one of them apart and fit it into the lock.

“Possibly downstairs with a handsome stranger,” his friend said.

“Hush.” He fiddled with the pin.

 _Snick._ Yuuri slid the other one in, listening carefully. He fell into a sort of trance, relying on feel and hearing alone.

_Snick._

 “We’re in,” he told Phichit, standing back up. He opened the door…

And was nearly mauled by the fluffiest ball of joy he had ever had the pleasure of meeting.

“Hi,” he cooed. Yuuri rubbed the poodles ears, scratching him just behind the head. “Please don’t eat me.”

He stood up, making his way into the room. 

“Well, Phichit?” he called.

“This way!” Phichit breezed past him and strode to—surprise—another portrait on the wall, also of a poodle. He grasped the frame and pulled at it. It swung to the side, revealing a safe built into the wall.

“Alright, you keep watch, I’ll see if I can crack this thing,” Yuuri said. Phichit nodded and slipped back out the way he came.

Safe cracking is rather different from picking a locked door. Bobby pins will not help you, and if you don’t know the combination, it becomes a matter of listening and feeling; pure instinct, plain and simple. But oh, the feeling of liberation when you finally hear a piece of the mechanism click into place is unlike any other.

It took six minutes and thirty-seven seconds. But at last, _at last_ , the latch clicked and loosened and the vault swung open to reveal a small wooden chest.

“They should have tried harder,” Yuuri muttered, opening it. The chest held two identically sized and cut stones, in the shape of a heart, of the clearest, palest blue. Anyone could easily mistake them for aquamarine, but Yuuri barely had to touch them to know they were pure, flawless diamonds.

“Gotcha,” he whispered. Pocketing them, he tucked the box back into the safe, closed the door, and let the frame swing back to its position on the wall. He tiptoed back out of the room, patting the poodle on the head as she darted around Yuuri’s feet. “Phichit,” he hissed; he poked his head around the doorway. “I’ve got them!”

"Sweet!” said Phichit, eyes alight. “Let’s ace this place, then.”

As they walked, Yuuri took in the brass wall sconces, the high marble ceilings, the deep wooden paneling on the walls.

“What do they even do with it all?” he muttered.

“Could be worse, they could have inlaid precious stones into the walls,” Phichit said.

They found their way back to the ballroom, and Phichit looked at Yuuri with a grin. “We could stay, you know. Just for a moment.” Yuuri opened his mouth to protest, but any arguments he may have made were quickly swallowed when he saw a purple waistcoat and gold-tinged mask.

“Yeah,” murmured Yuuri, “we could stay.”

Phichit raised an eyebrow. Yuuri scowled at him.

“Shut up,” he said.

“I didn’t get to say anything yet.” The voice in his ear was as familiar as the shiver it sent down his spine. He spun around, hand touching nervously at his mask.

"Hi again,” he said. The man smiled back; it rivaled the sun.

“Hi.” He waved. It was a small gesture, almost nervous. And adorably awkward, rather the way Yuuri felt. “Can I, ahm, I mean, may I have this dance?”

High on the thrill of success and the thrum of strings singing through her blood, Yuuri reached out to pull him close, one hand curling possessively at the nape of his neck, the other grasping his hand.

“I would like nothing better,” he said. Something gleamed hot in his eyes. He could see the smirk tugging at his lips. Well, they couldn’t have that. He pulled him closer, let his mouth slide dangerously close to his ear.

“Were you looking for me?” he asked. The answer came easily, too easily to be a lie.

“Every moment.” He spun Yuuri around and reeled him back in. “Where did you go?”

“Ah, secrets…”

“Not great for building trust in a relationship.” Another smile, soft at the edges. His eyes were very blue in the light of the chandeliers.

Yuuri had once considered fairytales overrated. Happy endings are never assured, after all, and he personally believed that placing his happiness on someone else was too great a burden for anyone to bear.

But he was starting to have second thoughts.

People talked about the world fading away, leaving no one but you and your soul mate. It turns out that was nearly true. It wasn’t that Yuuri forgot that there was an entire ballroom full of people watching them; rather, they just didn’t seem so important that he was willing to give up his partner to the next dance.

Or the next.

Or the next, for that matter.

“What can I call you?” The stranger asked. “I thought of you all day today, and every moment after you disappeared last night, but I couldn’t call you anything in my head.”

Yuuri almost considered just telling him, but that would be beyond foolish.

“Eros,” he said instead in a fit of mad bravery. Or stupidity. Or possibly absurdity trying to mask as seduction.

_Why would you say something that unbelievably laughable?!_

But his dance partner didn’t appear to be laughing. Quite the opposite, in fact. Blue eyes melted from clear skies to molten fire, like the heart of a smith’s flame.

“Eros,” he said, tasting it like some dark, heady wine. “I’m Agape, then. It’s a _pleasure_ to make your acquaintance.”

“The pleasure is entirely mine,” Yuuri breathed.

“Well, Eros, tell me: could I interest you in dinner, perhaps? A moonlit stroll, a dip in the river? The night is fine, you know; all the lovelier for having you in it.”

“I…” Yuuri stuttered to a halt when he saw Phichit waving anxiously at the edge of the dance floor. “I have to go.”

“I—no, wait, that’s not—”

“I’m sorry, really, but I have to—thank you for the dance,” Yuuri said, wishing he could properly convey just how much he had loved every minute as he did the very last thing he wanted to do and stumbled out of Agape’s arms. He walked directly toward Phichit, just brushing against him in silent acknowledgement, and hurried toward the nearest exit. He didn’t hear the muffled groan behind him as he left his partner for a second time in as many days, and severely regretting opening his mouth.

“That’s… not what I meant.”

 

“I am a terrible thief,” Yuuri groaned. “Should I feel as guilty as I do?”

“I think you’re just a good person, honestly.” Phichit plucked an apple from a vendor’s cart and flipped a coin, which the seller caught neatly. “Look, Yuuri, when it comes down to it, does the Prince actually need it? No, no he doesn’t. The kingdom is prospering; other countries are in debt to _us_ , not the other way around. No one wears a rock that big, so it’s not going on any jewelry, and Yuuri, I’m sorry, I’m just repeating what you’ve told me, but your family needs it.” They were walking through the village square, and while Phichit seemed to think he’d tamed a mountain, judging by the jaunty swagger in his step, Yuuri felt a cloying sense of regret in the pit of his stomach.

“Seriously, Phichit, I don’t feel right about it,” Yuuri told him. He stopped, in the middle of the cobblestone street, unable to care about the townsfolk milling about him. Phichit turned back, mid-bite, to face him.

“Yuuri,” he said around a mouthful of half-chewed apple, “Don’t tell me what I think you’re gonna try to tell me.”

"I’m going back and returning my half of the treasure,” Yuuri said. “I’ll find something else, heck even a smaller stone would do. But this is one of the crowning jewels of the kingdom, the greatest treasure it owns, to be protected. I can’t keep it.”

“Yuuriiiiiii,” Phichit groaned. “I hate it when you go all moral on me. We just pulled off the greatest heist this kingdom has seen in centuries! And now you want us to pretend it never happened, to be lost to history forever. We could have been remembered; we could have made history!” Yuuri closed his eyes, sun suddenly too bright, both unsure of himself and more sure than he had ever been.

“This isn’t about Sir Agape, is it?” The dimple in Phichit’s smile deepened.

“No! No, not at all, I—why would you assume that?” Yuuri flailed, flushing, which only made his friend laugh harder.

“Okay, Yuuri, okay,” he said, hands held up in surrender. “But seriously, you could solve all your family’s problems overnight, and you’re saying your conscience won’t let you help them if it means costing the kingdom something it can never use?” Yuuri touched Phichit’s wrist and gestured for them to keep walking.

“It’s more a matter of history,” he said. “I mean, heritage is… it’s kind of important, isn’t it? More than just family history, those gems are… I just… they’re important, I’d just feel bad if I deprived the future of something that significant, even if they’re not useful.” Yuuri exhaled, praying that his friend might understand.

“That…that’s really deep, Yuuri; way to make me feel like a bad person.”

Yuuri smiled, and while the thought of finding another way to help his family felt like taking on the weight of the world, something in his chest lifted. While he wouldn’t be in possession of a literal king’s ransom, he could also consider himself free of a guilty conscience. Phichit deserved nothing but the best, and he had done more for Yuuri than he would dare ask his own family. Yuuri couldn’t ask him to give up his share of the treasure, but he did at least know that Phichit had his back. His friend groaned, only half irritated.

“Fine, you win.” Phichit grumbled something that sounded like “ _freaking conscienc_ e” under his breath. “We’ll go back tonight. Both of us.”

 

The final evening of the Prince’s birthday celebrations fell clear and cold, the stars glinting like ice picks in the night sky, dim at first but sharper as the night wore on. Yuuri donned a velvet cloak of the deepest blue, with a blue and silver mask to match. A part of him hoped it would be enough to keep anyone from recognizing him. Another (equally loud) part wished that someone would. He refused to think of blue eyes and heart-shaped smiles.

 He arrived very late. This time, when the Herald announced Yuuri, (this time as Sir R. Masumi) Yuuri did not wait for anyone to greet him at the stairs. Instead, he kept to the edge of the ballroom, trying to blend in and avoid the gazes of the surrounding guests. He waited, watching for Phichit’s entrance, and his friend did not disappoint him. Phichit waltzed into the room with a flourish, drawing the eyes of everyone in the room as he called his own name over the Herald’s announcement. Yuuri did not stay for the spectacle. He slipped past a gaping couple giggling to themselves at Phichit’s antics, behind a grand white pillar, and through a doorway, where he shed his cloak and dropped it behind a convenient potted plant.

When he reached the royal chambers (minus one cloak and feeling somewhat out of breath) he pulled out his pins and let the familiar motions overtake him, and though his hands trembled and his mind whirred, he caught one _click_ , then a second, then a third, and he was in. There was no cheerful bark when he slipped into the room, just the echo of emptiness and the soft pad of his feet across the carpet.

The safe opened every bit as easily as it had the first time. Yuuri stood there for a moment, regarding the wooden box he knew to be empty, one hand gripping the pin he had used to unlock the safe, the other in his pocket, fingers just brushing the smooth, cut surface of the most precious gems in the kingdom. He pulled one out, letting it catch the light, sending prisms of cerulean and aquamarine, violet and china blue cascading over the walls, the floors, his fingertips. The shade in the very heart of them reminded him of soft violin music and dizzying dips, of laughter and weightlessness.

Of something warm, like what he felt when he thought of Mari, of Vicchan, of his parents—but sharper and softer all at once.

He let both stones roll around in the palm of his hand for a moment.

 _The kingdom would have no cause to mourn,_ he thought. _The royal family is not hurting for gold in their coffers or food in their cupboards. They might not even know it was gone; they’ve never even been used for ceremony in the time I’ve been alive. They’re not even set into something you could wear them_ on.

And yet, it wouldn’t be right. Something so beautiful deserved to be treasured, kept close and regarded as precious, not stolen away to be traded off and bartered for gold. No matter how much money they might bring, they were worth more than anything some black market seller could offer. Yuuri opened the wooden box and let the gems fall into the velvet-lined interior with a _clink._ The lid falling shut sounded too sharp. He closed the safe door.

“I am surprised, I confess,” someone said from behind him. Yuuri shrieked, startled, and turned on his heel. A man stood in the doorway, blocking the entry (and Yuuri’s exit for that matter). He was blond, tall, and dressed in a blue uniform denoting him as a member of the Royal Guard. The sword at his side glinted coldly. “I told him you wouldn’t come back. Clever of you to return while there was already so much commotion.” He glanced behind him, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Don’t you think, Victor?” Behind him emerged a man with sharp features, auburn hair, and a purple and gold mask: his dashing hero that had saved him from utter humiliation on the staircase that first night, the one he had danced with for more songs in a row than was appropriate, and the one that he would have very much liked to dance with for the rest of his life if given half a chance. The man reached up, pulling at his hair, and Yuuri realized it was a wig as it slid off to reveal silver hair beneath. Yuuri knew, somewhere in the distant corners of his mind, that he was missing something, but he only realized _what_ exactly when the man removed his mask, revealing the fine features of—

“Oh, gods.”

“‘Your Highness’ will do just fine,” said Prince Victor Nikiforov with an insultingly charming smile.

Yuuri had wondered, in his more morbid moments, what he would do if he were caught, or found himself in a criminally compromising position. In his mind, he saw himself pulling off daring escapes, usually including windows and ropes, and sometimes shattering glass. In reality, he was distantly disappointed in himself. He froze, mind blank as fresh parchment, and the only thing he could force out was something that sounded like a garbled mess of “Um,” and “Gah?”

 The Prince— _good heavens on high, he’s even more beautiful in person and I_ danced _with him—_ entered the room, letting one hand brush the guard’s shoulder with a soft “Thank you, Chris, I’ll take it from here,” and waited until the door slid shut before he faced Yuuri fully, and Yuuri wanted to melt into the floor so that he wouldn’t have to face him, this man he had long admired from a distance. He wished the Prince would just get on with it, and either throw him in the dungeons or skip the imprisonment process altogether and execute him now. Why wait, after all? Instead, Victor sat on the bed, eyes never leaving Yuuri’s as he blinked up at him. Sitting amid a tower of pillows, he looked oddly soft from this angle.

“Please don’t disappear yet,” he said. “I’ve been trying to catch you for three days.”

Three days? Victor had already known about his crimes when they met? And they let him and Phichit into the palace anyway?

 “Would you mind taking off your mask?” asked Victor, in that same low voice, like he was speaking to a wounded creature. Yuuri would do just about anything to hear him continue like that. Still, it was with heavy awareness that he reached behind his head to pluck the strings holding the mask to his face. It fell away, and Yuuri immediately wanted it back. It wasn’t just about his identity; he felt so exposed, as if he had removed more than just his mask, but had been stripped down to his skin.

 “What is your name?” asked the Prince.

“Yuuri,” said Yuuri. His voice cracked. He winced. “Yuuri Katsuki.”

“It’s a pleasure to properly make your acquaintance,” said Victor.

“Please, Your Highness, I’m so sorry, I was just—”

“Yuuri Katsuki, I am charging you with theft—”

 “—returning them, I swear, I wasn’t going to keep—”

 “—of my heart.”

 “—wasn’t going to keep them, I couldn’t—wait, what?”

“What?” Prince Victor smiled at him innocently. “Something wrong, Yuuri?” The way he drew out the vowels in his name could inspire bards and composers. Nevertheless, Yuuri swallowed, standing just a little straighter.

“Your Highness, please,” he said, “if you are going to convict me, do so, but do not play with me. I deserve to face justice, but I beg you, suspense is cruel.”

“I see,” said the Prince thoughtfully. “Well, Yuuri, tell me: what ought your punishment to be? Imprisonment? Beheading? Community service?”

“I have no right to dictate my own punishment to you, my Prince. That wouldn’t be right.” Prince Victor looked almost startled, or perhaps impressed. _Please let it be impressed; he might let me keep my hands rather than cut them off._

“Well, Yuuri, I shan’t keep you in suspense, then. I confess, I have to admire your planning abilities; the members on the Kingdom’s Council couldn’t accomplish what you have. My judgment is this: you will become a Council member and share your knowledge with them.” He looked extremely pleased with his decision, but Yuuri must have forgotten how language worked because, while he understood the words individually, they didn’t make sense when strung together.

"Your Highness, only Lords may become Council Members,” he felt compelled to remind him. The Prince merely waved a hand.

“Oh, well, that’s easily remedied,” he said.

“Your Highness, I stole the most precious stones in the country.” The Prince looked neither concerned nor upset by this confession, however.

“Yuuri, where are the gems right now?” he asked. Hesitantly, because surely this was a trick question, Yuuri pointed to the wooden chest, with its simple engravings.

“And how did they get there?” Victor asked.

“I—I put them there, Your Highness.”

“So you returned two highly valuable artifacts that might never have been recovered otherwise? Yuuri, that sounds more like the work of a hero, methinks.”

_A what, now?_

“In my humble opinion,” the Prince continued, “such heroism is to be rewarded, not punished.”

“I’m a thief, Your Highness,” Yuuri protested. This was not _at all_ what he had anticipated, and he was so far out of his element, the panic wrapping around his chest and _squeezing_.

“I see no thief here, Yuuri,” said the Prince softly. “I see someone with morals so strong that they were willing to risk getting caught in order to right a wrong, someone who is not only exceptionally clever but also _good_ , and an extraordinary dancer as well. However, if you truly doubt your Prince’s judgment…”

“I would never!”

 “You could always accompany me on a picnic? Let me see for myself whether I ought to regret my decision? Let me get to know you properly, no masks, no ulterior motives?” And that couldn’t be right; he was toying with Yuuri, surely, and yet—

The gleam of blatant hope in those blue eyes was so clear, so devoid of ill will, that Yuuri could only nod, throat dry, heart racing with something that definitely wasn’t fear.

“As my Prince commands,” he murmured, and Prince Victor’s little intake of air made him smile for the first time all night.

“Oh, Yuuri,” he said, “I might need to check that those gems are locked up after all. I rather think you have my heart.”

 

At the royal wedding of the century, two Princes stood side by side, one cloaked in violet, the other in blue, with matching crowns on their heads. Wrapped in delicate silver were nested two identical gemstones, cut into the shape of a heart and gleaming like the ocean in the noontime sun.

"It always belonged to you, you know," Yuuri said earnestly. "My heart, that is."  His husband chuckled as they spun around the dance floor.

 “My love, you owned mine before you ever stole it,” replied Victor.

_Fin_

 

_Hello, everyone! Thank you for taking the time to read this! I wrote it for YOI Royalty Week 2018, and initially I had more prompts planned, but everything fell behind, so while this was supposed to be Day One (Masquerade) it ended up late.  I might end up posting the rest at a later date anyway; after all, you can't really go wrong with a Royalty AU, can you?_

_Comments and Kudos are better than bread and cheese, and if you knew my love for baked goods, you would know that that is saying a lot!_


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